


Not A Gentleman So Much As A Gentle Man

by Rozarka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward First Times, Best Friends, Community: samhain_smut, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Halloween, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/pseuds/Rozarka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his misgivings, Neville can't pass up the chance when Ginny asks him to help her out with her little virginity problem. But both of them may have ulterior motives they're not quite prepared to risk owning up to, and things get messy very fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Gentleman So Much As A Gentle Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 [Samhain Smut](http://samhain_smut.livejournal.com) fic fest on LJ.

"Hi, Neville! Oh, my! I think you'll have to be the last guest; if one more person tries to fit into the house the walls are bound to burst!" 

Vicky Frobisher was beaming at him as he stepped from the cold autumn night into the hallway, fussing to take his coat, which she hung on an already overburdened hanger in the wardrobe. The narrow Hogsmeade house that she and Ginny and Demelza shared was reverberating from ground floor to attic with music, chatter and laughter, and Vicky was flushed pink with the delight of hosting a successful Halloween party, her eyes bright with pleasure. 

Neville smiled, feeling somewhat tongue-tied. Vicky tended to make him dizzy even when sober; intoxicated she was like an exuberant pixie. She was cute as a button, of course, but what Ginny, so blunt and no-nonsense, could have in common with a girl this bouncy was a mystery to him. "I'm probably the last one. Sorry I'm late."

"That's fine. Oh, Ginny's been looking for you all night." Vicky pointed upstairs. "She was in the kitchen, last I saw her. I love your costume, by the way. _So_ dashing!"

The costume was honestly rather lame, Neville thought; Auror robes were easy to fake and demanded no imagination. He muttered a shy 'thanks' to Vicky and headed up the stairs. He spotted Ginny at once, standing in front of him in the open doorway to the living-room. She was watching the people dancing with a detachment Neville could guess at simply from her posture: private somehow, leaning close to the ledge with a tilt of her head. From the back, he couldn't tell exactly what her costume was, only that it was something long-sleeved and tight fitting in a deep orange colour, something with a tail. A tawny cat, perhaps, or a lioness. Her red hair fell long and straight down her back and an opened bottle of ale dangled from her fingertips.

Neville walked quietly up behind her and took the bottle from her fingers, grinning as she turned with an annoyed exclamation just starting on her lips. It gave him a secret thrill to see her eyes soften the moment she realised it was him. He didn't think many boys would have got that reaction from her, but then again there weren't many girls he would have been that cheeky with, either. He winked at her as he raised the bottle and let it hover just shy of touching his lips. That gave him a secret thrill, too, even as he tsk'ed. "You're losing it, Gin."

"Yeah? In your dreams, perhaps." She made a grab for the bottle and he held it out of her reach with his arm that was a good bit longer than hers. They wrestled silently and intently over it for five seconds, and she scowled, but there was laughter brimming right under it. "When did you turn into such a prat?"

"Must have been my last year at school," he said, "I fell into bad company." He relented and let her have the bottle. He wasn't much of a prat, and they both knew it.

"I accept the blame. Proud of it, in fact." Ginny rubbed the neck of the bottle with her thumb, staring at it absently, then glanced up at him. "I've been looking for you."

"Yeah, Vicky told me." He felt a flush rising in his cheeks under her level, somehow calculating gaze. "Professor Sprout asked me to stay a little longer and help out."

"I'm sure she did," Ginny said with a sage nod. "She's after your nubile young body, that one, mark my words."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Yes, actually, we have orgies every Thursday afternoon. It's in my contract, she made sure to put it there herself." He pursed his lips against a grin at her expression. "Halloween is an important date for herbologists, you know. Re-plantings after sundown and what not."

"Re-plantings? So that's what herbologists call it?" Ginny smirked, fidgeted with the bottle and raised it to her lips, taking a long pull. Her slender throat worked as she swallowed, the pale skin dappled with freckles. She was watching him out of the corners of her eyes, and when she lowered the bottle she handed it to him.

"Thanks," he murmured. His stomach felt tight with the intimacy of it as he placed the wet lip of her bottle against his lips, and he fancied he could taste her, warm and sweet overlaying the bitter-tartness of the ale. He felt squirmingly pinned under her direct, brown gaze. She seemed to be in some sort of mood, but then, she often was, these days. After the Carrows, after the Battle, after Fred... after Harry. He couldn't blame her. "Why were you looking for me?" He handed her the bottle back.

Intriguingly, that made _her_ blush. "Because... just because. Dance with me."

She held her hand out in a request so clear that it was in practice an order. Neville eyed it doubtfully. "The Harpies won't sue me if I step on your toes and put you out of commission for Saturday's game?"

"You think I'd sit out a game because of a bruised toe?" She snorted, but the smile that followed was brilliant and a little tentative... almost abashed. "My toes survived your feet at the Yule Ball; I'm sure you won't do worse tonight."

Well, it would be boorish to keep ignoring that outstretched hand, so he curled his own fingers around hers, and Ginny found a surface to place her bottle on as they entered the room and slipped in among the people already dancing. It was a loud rock song, and the 'dancing' mostly consisted of waving one's arms around and hopping about, wiggling one's arse. Neville performed a restrained version of this, watching Ginny do interesting things with her chest and hips while she smirked along her shoulder at him. Luna drifted by, dressed as a pale purple daisy and dancing in a vaguely daisy-like fashion, and gave them a serene smile and a "Hi, Ginny! Hi, Neville!" as they passed. Seamus and Dean were close by, in matching pirate outfits, and Seamus shot a look at Ginny, then waggled his eyebrows to Neville. Dean clouted Seamus around the head. Neville grinned, feeling absurdly happy. He'd made many friends at Hogwarts and in the DA, and one year out of school he still kept in touch with most of them, but these four had become his tribe, somehow, family and comrades-in-arms, and no one else made him feel more relaxed, more at home.

After a couple of songs like that, the music slowed down. Some people left the dance floor, some couples only moved in closer to each other. Seamus and Dean were openly snogging. Seamus drew Luna into the crook of his arm without breaking the kiss, which might have startled Neville more if he hadn't been watching Ginny carefully for cues. She was moving closer, and he started opening his arms, just to have her grab his hands and drag him off the dance floor. "I have to talk to you," she said over her shoulder.

All right, he could talk. Neville followed, his heart still beating a tad faster after the thwarted anticipation of holding her in his arms. She tugged him after her into the kitchen, shutting and barring the door. She leaned against the kitchen table, her arms folding tightly over her chest, and Neville was starting to get worried whether she was brassed off at him for something he'd no clue that he'd done wrong and now the time of reckoning was due.

Except, she was blushing again, rather brilliantly so. Half fascinated, half alarmed, Neville cocked his head at her. "Gin, is something wrong?"

"No," she said at once, almost before he could finish the sentence. She sounded breathless and agitated. "No, not at all. It's just... The thing is, I need to ask something of you."

He relaxed. He'd do anything for her, and he told her so at once, and he knew that she believed him. But it only made her nibble nervously at her bottom lip.

And then she said something so outrageous that his eyes sprang wide and his jaw dropped open and he had to restrain himself from physically checking the state of his ears.

"You... want me to do _what_?" 

Although she held his gaze, Ginny was still blushing, unabated, which was only fair, because Neville's face felt absolutely on fire. A sudden outburst of song — Seamus, he was pretty sure — made them both break eye contact, relieved, to glance at the door. In the living-room, the song was met with laughter and shouts and bursts of applause. 

Neville stood in the middle of the floor, while Ginny still leaned against the kitchen table, her fingers plucking at her sleeve now. They looked at each other again. Seamus's pure Irish tenor was still serenading them passionately from the living-room. "You heard me the first time," she said, leaning down to scratch at her knee and looking completely embarrassed.

Neville rubbed his hand down over his face, then paraphrased carefully. "You want me to sleep with you." She had put it less delicately than that. "Because you don't want to be a... a virgin anymore."

"See?" Ginny shrugged with a nonchalance belied by those averted eyes. "Plain English. What's so hard to understand?"

He shook his head. "What's so wrong with being a virgin?" he countered. Saying the word 'virgin' in a serious context without one's ears feeling hot was plain impossible, he noted.

"The thing is," Ginny said, her voice gritty, "that... I have needs, you know? And I'd like to have some fun, like everyone else. Everyone I know is going at it like rabbits, and... actually... someone's been putting the moves on, not anything serious, he's just interested in shagging me, which is fine because it's all I'd want with him as well, but I had to turn him down. Because I don't want the word to get around that I... that Harry and I never—" 

She broke herself off, and Neville felt like something had physically impacted with his chest. He'd been so sure that she and Harry had been doing it, hell, that they'd been doing it before Harry went on the Horcrux quest. That they hadn't... well, the thought filled him with a primitive satisfaction that he wasn't proud of, not considering how mortified she seemed by the fact. She was flushed pink under her freckles, long eyelashes lowered, her lips pressed tightly together.

God, Harry could be a bleeding idiot sometimes. Neville frowned, worried about her, worried about the reason she was asking this of _him_. 

She glanced up at him before he could hide the concern from his eyes, and her eyes flashed at him. "It's just that it's no one's bloody business that Harry didn't fancy me enough to get me out of my knickers," she snapped. "Ergo, if I want to be able to have sex, that means that first I'll have to get discreetly rid of the stupid virginity thing with someone I can trust to keep his mouth shut about it. Will you do it, or not?"

Neville took one step closer. She tightened the arms folded across her chest, almost hugging herself. And she was everything he loved, standing there, square-shouldered, solid and short, craning her neck back defiantly to meet his gaze with forthright brown eyes. Never give an inch, that might have been her motto. It probably was, now that he thought of it. Ginny was pretty, anyone would have called her pretty, but he still fancied that she was beautiful to _him_ in ways that others couldn't know. Because they hadn't seen the devilish laughter that glittered in her gaze when the two of them barely avoided the Slytherin patrols in the nightly corridors of Hogwarts. And they hadn't held her when she climbed into his bed shaking and biting down whimpers of agony after being crucio'ed for an hour — or held him in turn, after it had been him. And they hadn't fallen a bit more for her every time she woke up to a new morning with the Carrows only more hardened, more on fire, rather than beaten and broken.

It was a bloody irony that what she was dangling in front of his nose was something he'd have killed to have under any other condition. If she'd told him she fancied him, if she'd asked him to make love to her, he'd have done whatever she wished in a heartbeat, and he'd have been deliriously grateful to do it. To be curtly called upon to help her get rid of something, as if it mattered as much as clipping her nails, that still made his stupid cock harden and swell in his pants, but it left a taste too bitter to indulge in willingly. 

"Who is this arse, anyway," he said stiffly, "who you're dying to shag even though you don't trust him not to be a total git and blabber about it?"

Ginny squared her jaw as she met his gaze. "Cormac McLaggen."

Neville gaped. "McLaggen is a tool," he hissed, lowering his voice and glancing towards the door as he heard someone passing. "Honestly, Gin, he's a seven foot tall walking, talking... prick!" He was too incensed to censor his words. "You can't seriously think of letting _him_ —"

She eyed him thoughtfully. And then she dropped her gaze, dropped her arms and raised a hand to fidget with her collar. "Yeah," she murmured. "He's... big. Having my first time with someone that huge has got to be agony. I can't even contemplate it."

Neville made a choked noise in his throat, frustration and outraged pride seething in him. "I want you to know," he managed after a moment, "I've had compliments."

She gave him a demure look through her lashes, a look that told him clearly that he was being played. "Have you?" But then she did a second take and narrowed her eyes, something alarmed flaring to life there. " _Have_ you? Wait, what do you mean, you've had compliments? Compliments on your...? I thought that you'd... that you'd never—"

"That I was sitting all overlooked and dusty on the shelf? That I'd be grateful for the chance of some action at last?" Actually insulted now, Neville charged on over her protests. "I know I used to be the patron saint of bumbling inadequacy, but in case it's escaped your notice, girls _see_ me now. And I'm human, and there have been opportunities, so... yes. Yes! I've had compliments. But if my glorious role in this is going to be to open the pearly gates for McLaggen and bow in his huge... endowments, I think I'll pass anyway. I'm not going to pretend that my cock's got a lot of principles nor pride, but that is a little too cap-in-hand, even for it!"

By the end of that salvo Ginny was red as a tomato and shaking her head, furiously trying to make herself heard, but Neville wasn't in the mood to stay for more patronising offers from his so-called friend. He shot her a last, defiant look and marched to the door, only to find it locked and barred by her spell. Biting back a curse, he grabbed for his wand, but she beat him to it, lowering the wards with an incantation spoken at his back. Her voice was shaking.

"I've never once thought of you as inadequate," she said. "Never."

Yeah, right, he thought, and stormed out of the room. 

***

He found himself downstairs and out in the small garden, and sank down on some rackety piece of patio furniture, the chair and himself emitting twin groans.

Ginny had just asked him to fuck her — that _was_ the word she'd used, cool as you please, and his ears still felt hot at the thought of it — and he had turned her down. He had a mental flash of his cock turning its back on him with a glare and a flounce, packing up its little things to leave, which would have been amusing if he hadn't felt, deep down under all the noble protests, that his cock had a point.

Once in a lifetime opportunity. Screwed it up. Good job, boy.

"Never suspected ye had such dramatic flair," said a chirpy voice at his back. "Streaking through the house like greased lightning, with the girl Weasley marching out of the kitchen in your wake, looking all set to murder anyone who dared look at her."

"I don't care," Neville said darkly.

"'Course you don't," Seamus said and perched on the armrest of the chair, hovering like a cheerful vulture. "She's a harpy, I've always thought so, and not merely in the Quidditch-related sense. Daft thing ditched Dean at fourteen, and it's only spiralled downward from there."

"You've never forgiven her for breaking up with Dean," Neville muttered with a glance at his mate, distracted from his gloom by burgeoning annoyance. "You're biased. And what were you up to with Luna, by the way?"

"I'm very grateful that the harpy broke up with Dean," protested Seamus. "I just happen to think it proves that she is mad. You're well rid of her, mate." He gave Neville a clap on the back.

"She is _not_ mad, or a harpy. She's... well, brilliant, most of the time." Neville glared, vexation heaping on annoyance at being provoked into complimenting Ginny when she'd just pissed him off. "Dean happens to like her just fine, it's just you who can't let a grudge go." He drew up his shoulders, kicking at a tuft of grass sprouting up between the patio's slate tiles, and gave Seamus a sour sidelong look. "And I can't be rid of her if I never had her, can I?"

Seamus scratched his jaw. "Are you sure you never had her? Not in the Biblical sense, as they say, though that wouldn't surprise me either, with that foxy — no offence," he hurriedly said, ducked and held his palms up when Neville swung at him. "What I mean is, if you didn't have her, not even the tiniest bit, why did she grab the nearest bloke by the collar and drag him out on the dance floor like she had something to prove to herself? Or, actually, to you?"

"Who," Neville said, choking on hot rage. "Who did she drag out on the dance floor?"

"Michael Corner was the marked man," Seamus said with a sad shake of his head. "He didn't look like he appreciated the direness of his situation, though. Poor sod looked like he couldn't get close enough to the little vixen. She'll have her claws in him before the hour is through, mark my words."

"Excuse me." Neville sprang to his feet so abruptly that it upended the chair under Seamus's weight and had him landing with a thump on the tiles.

"Was it something I said?" Seamus asked mildly, and rubbed his arse as he got up on his feet.

It occurred to Neville for a split second that he might have been set up, but that slipped from his mind as he stormed through the house. The ground floor and first floor went past in a blur. In the living-room, he spotted the two of them at once, writhing in each other's general direction on the dance floor. Ginny was pale and tight-lipped with anger, but Michael didn't seem to notice, or at least, mind. He was ogling her as though she were a yummily wrapped Honeydukes confection.

"May I?" Neville asked, tapping Michael's shoulder. He managed not to hex him, simply ignoring the other boy's protests as he took Ginny's hand and tugged her off the dance floor, out of the living-room and into the nearest room. 

"Merlin's tits, Longbottom, would you mind?" A dishevelled Ernie Macmillan made an indignant, imperious gesture of his hand from the bed, where he had Vicky almost out of her blouse. "Shoo!"

"Vicky's room," Ginny said tightly and gripped her wand, Apparating them both away and into a different room with a Harpies poster on the wall and a sunflower-patterned quilt on the bed. Before he could say a word, she placed both palms against his chest and shoved him, sending him stumbling a step back. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Corner, really?" Neville countered, pulling himself up to his full height. "So if it's not me, it's anyone, is it? For god's sake, Gin, have you no standards at all?"

She gaped at him. "I'm not — I wasn't going to — I'm not attracted to Michael! You... you bloody prat!" There was no hint of affection in the word this time. She pushed both hands against his chest again, sending him another step back. "I asked _you_ to do it because we're friends and I _trust_ you. I trust that you'd make it nice or at least not horrible or embarrassing for me." Another push, and his back met the wall, and she was nearly shouting now, her eyes suspiciously wet. "But you said no, so that means you have no further say in the matter, understand?"

Neville frowned, and caught her fists in one of his hands, stilling them against his chest. "What do you mean, you're not attracted to Michael?"

"I mean exactly what I say," she snapped. "What the hell are you smirking at?"

A crestfallen grin had indeed formed on his lips for a second before he managed to get it somewhat under control. If she wouldn't ask someone she was not attracted to... that must mean she had to be attracted to _him_ , wouldn't it? At least in some capacity?

"I'll do it." The words tumbled out of him. He held up one hand as her eyes widened. "On one condition. I want two goes. We do it twice. That's the only way I'll do it." He wasn't sure where that had come from, but it struck him as inspired the moment the words left his lips. 

Ginny stilled. She seemed completely out of her depth, so bewildered and momentarily so vulnerable that he wanted nothing more than to hug her tight.

"Why?" she asked warily.

"Because... just because," he said, parroting her reply to him earlier that night. "Because first times are rarely good, at least for girls, or so I'm told. Can't blame me for wanting to leave a better impression than that, can you?"

"That's not what this is about." She looked upended, blowing a strand of her fringe out of her eyes and averting her gaze from his. "I don't care whether I get off or not, and I know a lubrication charm, and... I just want it done, all right?"

"You won't need a lub... _that_ ," Neville protested, his face heating up again. 

"It's not that I don't think you're capable, you dolt." Ginny pressed her lips together, and fidgeted with the edge of her top. "I just don't want you to make a huge production out of it, you know? We're friends... honestly I think you're my best friend, Nev." Her voice wavered a little on his name. "There's no one else I trust the way I trust you. I don't want things to get complicated between us."

"If you want a guarantee against complications, you shouldn't have asked me to do this at all." It was only common sense, but perhaps it came out sounding colder than he'd meant, because she flinched.

"I suppose that's fair," she admitted quietly. She gave him a searching look, and started unbuttoning her shirt, her lips quirking up to a hesitant grin. "Well, no time like the present."

"Here? Now?" Neville paused. "Not the most private occasion you could have picked," he said, raising a hand to drag his fingers back through his hair. His gaze was helplessly fixed on her fingers revealing inch after inch of pale, freckled skin.

She drew her wand and cast a ward on the door while popping the last of the buttons free with her other hand, then a contraceptive charm pointed at her lower belly, and then tossed her wand on the bed while her hands went to her belt buckle. She intended to get down to business in ten seconds flat, it seemed, and Neville raised his hands to her wrists, slowing her motions.

"Wait... please," he implored, and her head snapped up at the last word. He let her wrists go and moved his fingers to the front of her shirt. "Just let me, Gin, all right?"

He could hear the breath catch in her throat. "Help yourself," she said, her voice gruff, her cheeks flushing a soft, warm red. She lowered her gaze as his hands slowly pushed the shirt off her shoulders and eased it down her arms and over her hands.

Her bra was lace, a pale green colour, hugging her round breasts. Her skin had such a creamy, warm hue there, and was barely freckled at all. He could see the darker circles of her aureoles through the gaps in the lace, and his stomach knotted up tight with desire as he skimmed with his hands up her ribs and flicked his thumbs over her nipples. The points stiffened at once and he glanced up to see her biting her lip, holding her breath. Holding his own, he leaned in, and brushed his mouth over hers. He felt her lips parting for a second, felt the warm, shaky rush of her breath into his mouth before she reared back a step.

"Please," she said, raking her fingers through her hair. "We shouldn't pretend that this means—"

She looked... scared, actually, and it made him bite his tongue on what would have been a hurt and angry retort. "Well, we can't pretend that it means nothing," he said, fixing her with a stubborn look. "Nothing... nothing that happens between us is ever going to mean _nothing_. We've been through too much together for that, haven't we?"

He was alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears, but she blinked them dry with the determination he knew so well, and gave a brisk nod. "Yes," she said. "I'm sorry, Nev. It... it's just... this probably sounds barmy, but if this ruined things between us in the long term, I couldn't stand it. Things... just seem to fall to pieces around me, and—" She seemed to search his face, her own expression conflicted, and then huffed out a breath. "Maybe this was a really stupid idea."

"No," Neville said quickly. He'd had a taste now, just a small taste but so ensnaringly sweet, and his doubts and principles might just as well have been lying in a discarded heap on the floor alongside her shirt. "I swear it'll be fine. I won't stop being your friend, not for anything. Don't you know that?" It was God's truth, too. He touched her cheek, relieved and pleasantly nervous as she turned her cheek into his hand in a gesture of unthinking affection. "All I'm saying is, I can't... do this as if you don't matter to me."

"Shut up and kiss me, then," Ginny said. She gave him a brave, sheepish grin, clearly nervous, and he knew the curt order was as gracious a concession as he could hope for. Actually, no point pretending he wasn't perfectly fine with it. He smiled and moved in closer again, dipped his head down to hers, bending slightly at the knees, as well. She was so small; he tended to forget that, and it was odd and touching, somehow, to realise it this way. It made his heart clench with a protectiveness that would probably have made her laugh if she'd known.

This time, her palms cupped his jaw and her lips pressed against his own without hesitation, soft and dry. He moved his mouth gently over hers, teasing her lips apart, licking in between them. The first warm, wet touch of their tongues sent heat crackling from his nape down his spine. Ginny made a small noise in her throat and moved closer in a rushed, jerky motion that made his chest swell with pride. Her fingers undid the fastening of his outer robes, pushed the flaps aside and then moved deftly down the front of his shirt. Neville hummed approval into the kiss, their tongues sliding together. He helped, impatient, as she pushed his shirt and the cape off, eager for her arms to move away from between their bodies so he could touch her breasts again. 

It was even better now with the heavy robes off. All the clothing remaining on his upper body was his undershirt, and when he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer as they kissed, he could feel the heat of her bare skin burning through the thin material.

He stroked with a hand up and down her spine, locating the clasp of her bra. While he did have some experience with the removal of such items, it was still mostly luck that it slipped easily open on the first try, letting him slide the bra off her in one smooth motion. Too smooth, as it turned out. She made a huff in her throat, pulling back a moment to look at him. "You're far too good at that." Her eyes narrowed. "How many girls, Nev?"

Neville cleared his throat. She wanted to know that _now_? He was in no fit state to start counting and didn't think it would go over well if he started using his fingers to help. "Uhm, not very many," he hedged. "I dunno, between five and ten?"

" _Ten_?" she asked, alarmed, and crossed her arms over her chest as she took a step back. "And how... when exactly were you shagging all these... these..."

"Girls," Neville said, though he could tell she was searching for a more colourful descriptor. "I didn't say it was ten; I said it was between five and ten." It was probably closer to ten — honestly it was probably between ten and twenty, but definitely much closer to ten than twenty. He felt his back break out in a sweat. "Does it really matter?"

"Oh, it doesn't," Ginny snapped. "It doesn't matter at all." Clearly, that wasn't true, and he gave her a pointed look until she huffed that way again and kicked the carpet with a mulish expression. "I thought we'd be on equal standing," she muttered. "I thought it would be okay to be a stupid virgin because you'd be a stupid virgin too."

That bloody-minded competitiveness was so typical that he had to swallow down a laugh. "It's not stupid to be a virgin, but it _is_ okay." He could even say the word without blushing this time, as, frankly, she was being far more daft about it than he was. Neville put two fingers under her chin and lightly raised her face so he could look into her eyes. "Hey, listen, if we count ten great snogs for one mediocre shag, you're probably still ahead of me, if that helps."

"They were mediocre?" she said, her frown relenting somewhat, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest. It was very hard to keep his gaze from straying to the cleavage where her breasts were pressed together.

"They've varied from mortifying to really bloody good," Neville admitted, not one to lie even to save his own skin. "What I'm saying is that if we count in all the hours you spent making out with Harry, you probably win on quantity _and_ quality."

"I don't want to talk about Harry," she said firmly.

"I know, Gin," Neville said patiently. "I don't want to talk about girls who aren't you, either." 

"Would you shut up about the stupid... girls," Ginny exclaimed, turning red when he arched an eyebrow at her. "I know, I _know_ , I brought them up. I can't help it, I hate to think of you with a girl, singular, and girls plural makes me want to.... want to... kick puppies and set things on fire! You're supposed to be _my_ Nev, and I know that doesn't make sense and I know I'm being unfair and irrational so... just let it go, all right?" She stared at him, a mutinous and bewildered expression in her brown eyes, and then suddenly put her hands to his chest and gave him a shove, much like she'd done when she'd been furious with him earlier. But it turned out that this time she had friendlier intentions. Because one step back made his knees meet the bed and they obligingly caved and sent him sprawling back on the covers, and Ginny didn't hesitate to follow.

She crawled over him and now she was grinning, catlike and playful. Of course she'd be a natural on top. The thought made Neville's cock throb in his pants. Her breasts swayed as she moved up his body, and she sat down astride his hips and started opening his belt, then his flies. His hips jerked and his eyes closed for a moment when the back of her hand grazed his prick. But he opened them again at once, very certain that he didn't want to miss a second of this. Of _her_ , Ginny, slipping her hand inside his open flies, pulling down the waistband of his boxer shorts and freeing his cock, watching it with her tongue peeking out to lick at her lips in a pensive more than deliberately seductive way.

"Nothing on McLaggen's, I'm sure, but I reckon that was the point," he said, and her gaze flew up to lock with his. She was shocked by his cheek, he could tell, and he couldn't help but feel damned pleased with that. He gave her a breathless grin. "Not too modestly sized for your purposes, I hope."

"Don't fish for compliments; it's tacky, not to mention pathetic," she said sternly, but she was being overtaken by giggles even as she spoke, which made him grin even wider. She shook her head, studying him in wonder. "Look at you, so bloody confident." She slipped her fingers around him, smirking when he gasped. "I've never seen Cormac's. I was just trying to goad you. I could compare you to Harry, if you like." She gave him another smirk and an experimental squeeze, and he moaned.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about Harry." He raised his hands to her tits, cupping them and squeezing lightly in turn. He took her nipples between thumbs and forefingers and rubbed firmly and slowly, and watched her cocky smile dissolve in parted lips as she gasped and rocked down on him.

"Nev," she whispered. Her eyes were half-lidded, and to hear her say his name like _that_ must be the single most arousing, mind-blowing thing he had ever heard. To see her so responsive to his touch turned his brains to mush and made the pressure in his cock and his bollocks feel almost intolerable. It occurred to him for the first time that he might come before he'd performed the task she'd asked of him. Merlin, that wouldn't impress her much, would it? Neville groaned and slipped one arm around her, tugged her down on top of him to kiss her soundly and then rolled them to lie side by side.

"Too many clothes," he muttered, his fingers going to the waist of her trousers and loosening her belt. The trousers were tight but turned out to be some sort of stretchy material and thank god, easy to push down. He slipped his hands inside them at the small of her back, inside her knickers, too, and took a moment to cup and knead at her firm, round bottom before pushing both knickers and tights down over her hips.

He knelt up and eased them the rest of the way down her legs, his gaze feasting on her in wonder. Oh, she was beautiful, the pale skin flushed with warmth and speckled golden brown like the delicate shell of a wild bird's egg. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze fastened on the small thatch of red curls framed by her thighs. God, he wanted to taste her, and he lowered his head, only to feel her small, strong hands clutch at his shoulders and pull at him. He glanced up at her and found her wide-eyed as though she were doubting if she'd guessed correctly at his intention.

"You take off the rest too, else it isn't fair," she said, her voice low and husky in a way that made him even harder, if that were possible. 

He nodded, wrung the undershirt quickly over his head and tossed it on the floor, too aroused to even worry about sucking in his stomach as he fumbled to push down his trousers. It wasn't that bad, he was quite fit from all the outdoors work and Ginny seemed to like what she saw anyway, leaning up on one elbow, her hand tracing lightly the width of his shoulder, then down through the hairs on his chest and following the trail along his sternum and belly. He kissed her while they both pushed and kicked at his trousers to move them down his legs. It was more enthusiastic than graceful, and she giggled into the kiss as they struggled. The sound was nervous and very girly, more girly than he was used to from her, and it made his throat feel tight with something so tender, so filled with yearning that all he could do was whisper her name and drown in the sweet sensation of the warmth of her skin melting into his own as their limbs slid alongside and their bodies fitted together. He still had his socks on, which he knew couldn't be very sexy, but her hand was around his prick again, pulling at it in tentative strokes that were driving him mad, and he couldn't even make himself focus enough to kick the bloody things off.

His hand curved down over her stomach, and lower, petting through her curls. She breathed hard against his lips, her thighs spreading open for him. Pressing slightly down he found her silky and wet, and they both moaned while his cock made a frantic leap between them as if it could thrust itself inside the warm, slick place at will.

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed, "oh, oh god," as his finger pad slipped and circled over the smooth, hard nub of her clit. Slowly, mindful of any signs of discomfort, he eased a finger inside her, then a second, twisting them around gently to get her used to the sensation. Her muscles clamped down around his digits, and a not very manly whimper tore from him at the thought of being inside her, of his cock being pulled at, squeezed by that tight heat. Breathing deeply, he kept his touch on her clit steady while he kissed his way down to her jaw, her throat, across her sharp collarbone and down to lick and lap at a nipple. It was already stiff, pebbled against his tongue, and he drew the point into his mouth and sucked it in long pulls, moaning in enjoyment while he fingered her. He must be doing something right, because she was panting and making noises too and her hand had lost coordination on his cock, which was frankly a good thing if he were to have any shred of hope of holding out at all.

"Nev, I... I'm ready," she gasped, her fingers digging into his hair.

Neville allowed himself a smirk around her nipple. "What," he muttered, "you don't need a lubrication charm?"

"Argh, no! Prat!" She was half laughing, half whining, and gave his hair a tug with her fingers. "Come here, you."

In his fevered state, the slight yank of pain only increased his arousal as he gave her nipple a last, firm suck and eased his fingers out of her. He met her gaze. "I'm right here." 

She still looked nervous, but determined, and he frowned, trying to get a grip. There was more to her being ready than being wet for him, and he'd wanted to make her come before they got to the part that was bound to be uncomfortable on her end. But he was only human, let alone a randy boy of nineteen, and when her hands closed on his hips and she tugged him closer, wiggling into position under him so soft warm thighs spread round his hips and slick flesh parted for his cock, he moaned helplessly and the only thought he managed to hold on to was a frantic mantra of 'Don't come, not yet, not yet'.

Ginny pulled his head down to hers and kissed him quick and hard on the lips. "Just get on with it and do your worst, okay?" she whispered, with tense bravado in her smile. "This is kind of nerve-wracking, to be honest."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be daft. 's not your fault. I just... want the hurting part done with."

"I may only last five seconds after that part's done with," he tried to warn, "so that means this is as good as it gets. For you, that is."

"That's fine. I promised you two times," she reminded him, something shy creeping into her eyes that made him want to assure her that he'd never hold her to that, not unless she _wanted_ a repeat, but she was raising her hips under him, sliding a hand between them to guide his cock inside her, and his good intentions disappeared in a dizzying squeeze of pleasure.

The tip slid in easy and her muscles clamped down to hold it there; it was like getting sucked in by her body, welcomed. She didn't seem to find that uncomfortable, just breathing in small hitches, wiggling on those couple of inches as though she were trying out the sensation. The wiggling drew a whimper from him and he slid his arms under her back and hooked his hands round her shoulders, cradling her and getting himself leverage as he rocked deeper inside, slow, torturously slow, gentle as he could. Every new push wrapped him tighter and more fully, and the desire to push in, to thrust, screamed at him. But she was getting more and more tense, her eyes squeezing shut, and then she clutched at his hips with a sharp gasp.

" _Wait._ " She breathed through her teeth. "Ow. Fuck, that hurts."

"Sorry," Neville gasped, following orders. She opened her eyes to look at him, her mouth drawn into a tense grimace and her eyes wet. She'd clamped down on him hard, squeezing the sweet life out of him, and his prick was shamelessly enjoying itself, trapped in warm, tight heaven. He wouldn't have believed it possible to feel so bloody fantastic and so terrible at once.

She blinked away the tears in her lashes. She wasn't crying, he realised with relief, they seemed to be just reflexive tears. Her fingers dug into his hipbones, her eyes flashing in alarm at him when his muscles bunched under her hands. "Don't move!"

"All right. All right..." His whole body was on fire, shaking with the effort to stay still, as he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. He put a hand on her thigh, slowly rubbing the tense muscle there. "Try to relax, yeah? It's the only way this will work."

She gave a jerky nod, bursting out in a laugh that was halfway to tears. "Good thing you're not Cormac," she said shakily, "I would have clocked you one."

He grinned. "I'm glad I'm not Cormac for that and many other reasons." He brushed his nose along hers. Her thigh had finally let go of its braced tension under his massaging fingers. "You feel amazing. I'm sorry it hurts. Not bloody fair, is it?"

"'s okay." Ginny breathed deeply. "Try again... careful."

Even slower than before, he withdrew by increments and sank in a little deeper, and although her breath hitched on the first try, making him freeze for a moment, it seemed easier after that. Her expression relaxed, and while he could tell she was still far from enjoying it the way he did, at least she seemed to trust that the worst of it was done. When he was finally fully seated inside her, he stilled there, panting, trying to catch his breath.

"Are you in now?" She sounded unsure. "Really, all the way in?"

"God, yes," he moaned. 

"Wow," she whispered. Her eyes were wet again, but full of wonder, too, and it didn't seem bad this time. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Neville," she said, just his name like that, a tender breath against his lips, and he was grasping at the tatters of his control.

"Ginny... Christ, I have to — can I?" He was already moving, for the permission was there in her voice, her embrace, and she whimpered as he drew halfway out and pressed back in, and again, again, keeping it all so gentle he was panting and delirious with it. She held him so tight, not just the slick warm place between her thighs but her strong arms clutching at him, one leg sliding around his hip to make it even better. Her breasts brushed against his chest with every sliding motion of his body, and gasps were falling from her lips now, not all pain he thought, he hoped, because there was surprise in the sounds, and that hint at enjoyment was enough to make him helplessly speed up his motions. He slid one hand down from her shoulder to cup a round, warm breast in his hand, flicked his thumb over the nipple, a tender effort to make it good, to help her get at least a little pleasure out of this, too. But when he felt her nipple firm up against his thumb, when she arched her chest up against him with a moan, that was the last straw and his orgasm overtook him so fast he barely managed to keep back a shout, clinging to her while he shook and his hips jerked, his cock spilling inside her in hard, intense spurts.

" _Oh_ ," she was whispering, moaning, "oh, oh, Neville." She relaxed under him as he tried not to crush her, bracing himself on unsteady arms. Her hands were running down his back as he moved inside her, the last slow, uneven thrusts, and while he was pretty sure she couldn't have come, her body was gripping his cock in uncertain pulses anyway, milking him dry in the most fantastic way.

She gave a soft hiss and a wince when he pulled himself out of her. "Sorry," he mumbled, an automatic if honest apology. He was so thoroughly blissed out at the moment that he wasn't quite up to register feelings of regret. He rolled over on his side and took her with him, tucking her in warm in his arms. "You all right?"

She nodded without a word, pressing her face against his shoulder. He could feel her breath there, ragged like his own, feel her heart slowing down as he stroked her sweaty back. He hoped she'd say something, because he was plain out of words and uncertain how to proceed.

"Thank you," she said finally, drawing back a little, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second before averting her eyes. Blushing for him, all rosy. Merlin. Neville was sure he felt his heart physically flip over in his chest. 

"You're welcome," he murmured, and added, because that seemed completely inadequate, "thank _you_."

"For what?" She frowned. "I wasn't much good." She held up a hand to his lips. "Hey, I wasn't, I'm fine with that. First time, right? I'll do better next time. I... I did promise you a next time, so."

"You were fine, Gin. I mean... you were lovely." Neville studied the defiant tilt to her jaw, the uncertain look in her eyes, and wished he'd had legilimency talents. All he had was a sex-wrecked boy brain that tended to be befuddled by girls to begin with. There was a sudden racket of steps down the stairs, of voices and laughter in the hallway which was next to her room. Someone must be leaving, the party starting to break up perhaps, and they both glanced at the door, then back at each other. "About a next time," he said hesitantly. "That was me being a prat, I reckon. I had no right to demand that of you, or to try to hold you to the promise after, anyway. I wouldn't do that."

Some emotion flashed in her eyes, too fast for him to even attempt to identify. She rolled away from him, sitting up in one smooth motion with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, and scowled. "I always keep my promises."

"That's an awful reason to sleep with someone, though," said Neville, sitting up too, raking a hand through his hair. "Worse than this, even."

"Well, you know—" Swinging her legs down on the floor, she stalked away from the bed and started picking up her clothes and putting them on with a speed that made him dizzy. "If you think my reasons are so awful, I'm sorry I imposed."

He gaped at her. He'd just been trying to do the right thing, but he'd clearly managed to brass her off and he'd no idea where he'd put his foot wrong. "I didn't mean — I, Gin, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. As I said, thank you. You were very... _considerate_." She nearly barked at him, her eyes bright with tears again, and he pushed himself off the bed, feeling stupid wearing nothing but his black socks in his disoriented post-orgasmic haze.

Her gaze dropped to below his midriff, and he watched her go a little pale before she jerked her head to the side. Alarmed, he looked down, too, and felt faint as he saw a streak of red on his limp cock. Oh, hell. He managed at the last second to stop himself from staring between her legs for matching proof, and dropped a hand as though to hide the evidence, guilty and embarrassed and hopelessly bewildered by her reactions.

"Did it hurt badly?" He was just stabbing in the dark, really, hoping to hit something solid. "I'm so sorry; I tried to be careful, I swear!"

"It didn't hurt more than I expected it to hurt," she snapped. "I've survived _Crucio_ , do you really think your mighty... _complimented_ cock is going to do worse damage than that?" She'd got her knickers on and thrown on the shirt, without the bra under, and was struggling to get her foot into one of the leg holes of the tights. Neville felt ridiculous now, stark naked in his socks, and he managed to locate his trousers rolled in a bunch at the bottom of the bed and pull his boxers out of them.

Ginny gave up on the tights and Accio'ed a pair of jeans from the wardrobe, catching them in one hand and putting them on. She brushed a hand through her hair, her eyes avoiding his as he stepped into his boxers and tugged them up on his hips. "Ginny," he pleaded, taking a step closer. He took her hand and she drew a sharp breath and dashed at her eyes furiously. "I'm sorry, whatever it was I did wrong. Please, tell me so I can fix it."

She gave him a look so wary and uncertain that he closed the distance between them, unthinkingly tugging her into his arms by her hand. She came stiffly, tense, but she did come, and he breathed out in relief.

Someone tried the door, and then banged on it, hard. "Ginny? Are you in there?" It was Demelza yelling. "Where did you put Terry's coat, we can't find it!"

"Crap," she whispered, and pulled away as she frantically buttoned up her shirt with one hand and tried to smooth down her hair and wipe at her eyes with the other. "Just a sec," she called towards the door, and then turned to him again, talking without really meeting his gaze. "Sorry. Sorry, I... listen, I'll see you later, yeah? Tomorrow, or I don't know, soon." She grabbed her wand and was leaving already, lowering the wards and opening the door just a fraction so she could slip out.

"What the... what?" Neville muttered to himself, both hands in his hair as he stared after her.

***

The next afternoon after work found him in the hills above Ottery St. Catchpole, red-eyed from lack of sleep the night before and knocking on Luna's door. With help from her friends and financial reparations from the Ministry, she'd partly rebuilt the odd house she'd shared with her father, where Neville had visited her a couple of summers before. It was only one floor now, a low cottage with golden autumn foliage already growing up the walls, and brightly coloured chrysanthemums in pots on the front steps. Like Luna, the building was still odd, but nice, and full of surprising angles.

It was some of those angles he hoped to access. A whole night tossing and turning had given him a tentative theory on why things had gone pear-shaped with Ginny the night before, but the theory was rather presumptuous, he felt. He'd been intending to call on Luna today anyway. It was All Saints' Day, and she'd be going to the churchyard to her father's grave, for which some moral support might surely come in handy. But after last night, he also wanted to ask her to weigh in on his Ginny-related headache, which felt like it was on the verge of becoming a heartache. While she sometimes would wilfully ignore the blindingly obvious, Luna usually saw straight to the heart of a matter like nobody else.

The door was flung wide open, and Luna stood there with a smile of serene delight. "Neville! What a lovely surprise. Come inside and have tea with Seamus and Dean and me."

"Seamus and Dean are here?" Neville's heart sank. It was good if he wasn't the only one who'd thought to offer moral support, but getting into anything emotional would be mortifying with Seamus around. "Um, all right." He followed her into the tiny kitchen and squeezed himself down beside Dean and opposite Seamus around the table.

"Long-faced today, mate," said Seamus with no delay, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. 

"And a very good day to you, too," said Neville with as much dignity as he could muster.

"What went wrong? Apparently she didn't chew your head off after sex, as I feared. Unless it was the other head," Seamus added, stirring his tea, "but you don't look quite long-faced enough for _that_."

"Shut up, Shay," Neville said, taking refuge in the cup of chamomile tea Luna offered him and almost scalding his tongue.

"Dare I ask?" Dean said wryly.

"Neville got horizontal with a female of the Weasley species, last night at the party." Seamus scooted back on his chair with a grin as Neville kicked at his legs under the table. 

Luna sat down beside Seamus and turned wide silvery eyes at Neville, her interest clearly piqued. She pushed a plateful of sandwiches at him. "You and Ginny had sex? Was it nice?"

Neville made an inarticulate noise in his throat. "Can I please enjoy my tea?"

"It _wasn't_ nice?" Seamus looked taken aback. "Not even the actual—" he made a crude gesture using the fingers of both hands—"choo choo part?"

"The choo choo part?" Neville stared at him, appalled. "Seamus, you're revolting."

Dean was sniggering, beside him. "Shay doesn't mean to be crude, he was just born that way." He took a sip of his tea, nudging Neville good-naturedly with his arm. "What went wrong? You didn't try to open any doors for her, did you? That doesn't go over so well, in my experience."

"Ginny was very hurt by Harry," Luna's clear, sweet voice broke in. "He didn't want it, or mean it, but it happened all the same."

Three boys stared at her.

"Did I miss a part?" asked Seamus, scratching his head.

"Aha," Dean said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean, 'aha'?" Seamus said, fixing Dean with an aggravated look. "Are you going to pull out the 'sensitive artist' card again? I'm sensitive, too!"

Dean smirked, but Neville ignored their bickering and focussed on Luna, turning her words over in his head for clues. "But that was Harry," he said finally, feeling rather lost. Not as lost as Seamus, though, which was always something. "I'm me."

"I know that, Neville." Luna leaned over the table and patted his hand. "You are you, and Ginny likes you very much, but she's probably afraid of getting hurt again. And you know what happens when Ginny gets afraid."

"She gets furious." The words just slipped out of him, and he stared at Luna. "Oh." He itched to ask her opinion whether his theory about where he'd mis-stepped was right, but would rather stick his hand into a fire than bring up details with Seamus and Dean around. They drank their tea and ate their sandwiches in silence, until Luna started talking about the Yodelling Nettles that were taking over her parsnip field, and all of them weighed in on whether to weed them out or keep them for the music. They eventually put on their coats and went outside to have a look, and Neville promised to come back later in the week and take the nettles with him to Hogwarts and Professor Sprout.

Then Luna fetched the bright autumnal wreath she'd made for her father's grave — refraining from adding a Yodelling Nettle to it on the boys' unanimous advice — and they all walked down to the village and the churchyard, where a number of churchgoers were tending to the graves of their loved departed ones. 

Among them, a half-dozen redheads gathered around a gravestone in the newer part of the field.

Neville's heart was pounding as they opened the gate. Luna's dad had died in Azkaban not long before the battle, and so was buried not far from Fred Weasley. 

"Perhaps there's been a service," Luna mused. "I went to one, to see what they were like. The Muggle vicar is a nice man, but I find he has terribly mundane ideas about the nature of the divine and rather depressing ideas about the afterlife."

"You can talk dirty to me any time you like, darlin'," said Seamus and put an arm around her shoulder, rubbing her arm as they all walked slowly up to a lavender-grey headstone that spelled out Xenophilius Lovegood's name. 

Luna knelt in the grass in front of the headstone and placed the wreath there, right beside the inscription which read 'Devoted Husband, Loving Father, Passionate Quibbler'. Neville couldn't help himself, his gaze was drawn to the ginger congregation a few rows down the churchyard. They'd leaned a sunflower wreath against the headstone and placed a vase of magenta roses next to it. It made for a glaring contrast, but it did perfectly fit Fred Weasley as Neville remembered him. Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan were there, too, and Hermione was there with Ron, although Harry was absent, and Ginny stood with her dad's arm around her. Had she seen him? He couldn't very well walk over there and talk to her, not when they were all gathered there in their shared grief over someone Neville hadn't known all that well (and had always been wary of, truth be told).

"Hello, Dad," said Luna, stroking the headstone. "I'd like you to know that I'm almost done rebuilding the house and that I miss you terribly, although it's getting a little easier most of the time. I'm trying to be brave. I know you would want me to." Her voice drifted off, suddenly wobbly, and Dean crouched down beside her and put a hand on her back. She leaned her head on his shoulder, took a few breaths and continued more steadily. "The Quibbler is going quite well, and I've started preparing a book about Snorkacks. I hope to take a trip to the north of Sweden to do research next spring, in the mating season. Oh, and speaking about that, I'm considering entering into a polyamorous relationship with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. They are both lovely young men, and I'm sure you would like them both, especially Dean, although Seamus is very sweet when you get to know him, but I've told them I'll need some time to think about their proposition."

"What," said Neville, halfway diverted from his anxious scrutiny of Ginny, sure he must have misheard. Dean cleared his throat and picked at a tuft of grass, and even Seamus looked a little red-cheeked. Neville stared at them and recalled Seamus pulling Luna closer last night as he and Dean kissed, and the reality of it snapped sharply into focus. "Both of you?"

"Aye," Seamus said, and for once he didn't seem to have more to contribute than that.

"We're both mad for her," Dean said, "and for each other. So."

Neville opened and shut his mouth several times, without a sound. "If you hurt Luna, I'll hex you to the South Pole and back," he managed eventually. "I hope you know that."

"If hexes are needed, I can throw them myself," Luna said with a patient glance over her shoulder, "but no one is going to hurt anyone on purpose, and you have to take a few risks in love, you know." She smiled at someone behind him. "Hi, Ginny. Oh, how nice of you!"

Neville turned, feeling dizzy as he saw Ginny walk past him carrying a long-stemmed magenta rose that she laid down on Mr Lovegood's grave. Luna reached up to her, and the girls hugged for a moment before Ginny straightened herself.

And looked at him. He had no idea why he wasn't lying in a dead faint among the leaves on the churchyard grass, because it felt like his heart had stopped.

She hadn't had any better sleep than he had, by the look of it. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose was reddened as if she'd been crying — of course, he thought, wanting to kick himself, she'd probably been crying for her brother.

And still she was so very beautiful, so very Ginny-like, standing proud and ramrod straight, her gaze warily assessing as she studied him.

"Hi," he managed. It wasn't much of a greeting, but it took him some courage to get that tiny word out.

"Hullo." She pressed her lips together, glancing along her shoulder at her family. 

He'd no idea where to start, not with Luna, Seamus and Dean hearing everything they said. But he took a deep breath and threw himself in at the deep end, figuring in case she only gave him time to say one thing, then it should be what was actually on his mind. "Last night... I didn't mean what I said the way you perhaps thought I meant it. That is, I'm not sure what you think I meant, but if it is what I think you may have thought, then that's not what I meant at all." 

She tilted her head at him sharply, her eyes narrowing, but her lips were actually twitching at the corners at the end of that. At least he could amuse her, if only by being crazily inarticulate. "We should talk, I reckon. It's just, I'm required for, you know, dinner and..." She nodded over her shoulder at the rest of her family.

"Yes, you should be with your family," Neville said heavily. "Of course." He remembered. "And I'm going to see my parents tonight. And Gran's invited me for dinner."

Ginny nodded at once, looking worried in a way that made his stomach drop. "Hey," he said, "I'll be home tonight. Late, but... I'll be there."

Her shoulders hunched as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "All right."

"Is it, really?" he murmured. "All right?"

"Why should I know, if you don't?" she threw at him, giving him a look so direct he felt knocked sideways. She took a couple of steps towards him, and standing on tiptoe, she picked something from his hair — a fallen leaf from the mulberry tree by the church. The leaf was vibrant red, roughly heart-shaped, looking like a part of her with her flaming hair and her warm brown eyes. She tucked it into his hand and closed his fingers around it, both of them glancing down at her hand around his. Then she let go, and when Neville looked up again she was already walking away down the rows of headstones.

***

Other people had graves to visit on All Saints' Day; Neville had two confused, hollowed-out people at St Mungo's. Perhaps it was morbid to visit them that day of all days — he'd seen no reason to tell his gran that he was going, as he could just imagine the toss of her head and the sharp crack of her voice informing him that his parents weren't dead, thank you very much.

Of course they weren't. He brought a single bright marigold flower that his mother instantly started tearing the petals from, inhaling their scent and rubbing them against her cheek. He sat on her bed and she came and ran her fingers through his hair. His dad sat quietly perched on a table by the window and watched them, turning his face to the setting sun every once in a while, and every time he did, his eyes crinkled up so it looked like he smiled. It felt okay, a bit sore and strange, and it didn't change anything, any more than visiting a headstone changed anything, Neville supposed. What was gone, was gone, but what was left wasn't worthless however much it might hurt at times.

Dinner at Gran's was served late, and dragged out later. By the time he came home to his small flat in Hogsmeade, he was tired and worried that Ginny might have been there and not found him home. He grabbed a quick shower, changed and sat in the kitchen reading the day's edition of the _Prophet_ , hoping she'd turn up, for a value of 'hope' that included a fair amount of stomach ache and trepidation. Finally, just before midnight, he put out the lights and went to bed.

The moment it was dark, the night was full of her. Dancing and grinning at him along her shoulder, clutching at him and moaning with her soft hair tossing over the pillow, whispering ' _Nev_ ' that way she'd done— 

"Damn it." He was out of bed in three seconds flat. He wasn't going to be able to sleep, and he knew there was only one thing he could do about it.

He pulled a thick wool jumper on over his pyjama top, exchanged the bottom for jeans, threw on his parka and stepped barefoot into his work boots. His wand was all he needed, and he grabbed it and left the flat, running the few streets to her house.

It was too late to ring the bell and risk waking the whole house, so he entered the garden, considered knocking at her window, but found a few small pebbles instead and lobbed them at the pane. Pebbles were less alarming to be woken up by than knocking, he reasoned.

Not that this girl ever admitted to being alarmed. The curtains were pushed aside and the window cranked open, so fast she couldn't have been asleep even though she was in her pyjamas, too. She leaned out, her hair falling forward in a long plait.

"Nev," she said. The catch in her voice sounded breathless, and he took heart from that. "I meant to come over, but I came home late and didn't think... I thought you'd be asleep."

"Come out here?" He looked up at her with his neck craned back. "Just for a bit?"

One eyebrow shot up. "Isn't it more practical if you come in?" 

He gave her a tentatively charming grin. "Well, yes, but I miss sneaking around with you at night. We've become terribly law-abiding, haven't we, for two old comrades-in-arms? I'd hate to say boring, but—"

She chewed on the side of her lip, to stop laughter, he realised, and was straddling the window pane, wand in hand before he could blink. "Don't you ever, ever, _ever_ dare call me boring, Neville Longbottom." He held up his arms to catch her, but she twisted smooth as a cat and landed beside him, grinning. "Nice catch."

"Right," he said dryly. "Because you make it so easy to catch you." He glanced down. "Damn it, Gin, you're barefoot."

"Who's boring now?" She obviously did feel the chill from the ground, though, her feet dancing on the spot as she raised her wand. " _Accio_ boots!"

Neville ducked for a pair of boots that came flying out of the open window. They landed in the grass with a thud, and she hopped a little on each leg, pulling them on. Her pyjamas were pale yellow with multi-coloured broomsticks on them, and Neville didn't think he'd ever seen anything so bloody cute as Ginny in the moonlight in broomstick pyjamas putting her chunky boots on, her long red plait bouncing on her shoulder as she moved.

"Done." She straightened herself up. "Now that I'm not barefoot, where do you want to go?"

"You're still going to be cold." He wrung off his parka and held it up, open for her to stick her arms into. He'd be warm enough in his jumper, at least if they kept moving.

"When did my mum retire and sign over the job to you?" she groused, but she did put on the parka without further arguments, a sure sign that she was freezing.

"Just trying to be a gentleman," Neville said with a sardonic smile. "I suppose this is what Dean meant when he warned me not to open any doors for you."

"He _would_ say that. Poor bloke." Ginny laughed and ducked her chin into the warm collar of the parka, but there was something softer in her eyes as she looked up at him. "You're not a gentleman so much as a gentle man, Nev. Empty gallantry gets my hackles up, yeah, but I know actual kindness when I see it. Even if I bluster. You do know that, don't you?"

"'Course I do," Neville said gruffly, sure his face was pink from the praise and hoping the blue moonlight was washing some of it out. He gestured to the gate. "Let's walk. It's too cold to be standing still."

She hooked her arm into his as they slipped out the gate, and Neville's heart gave a small thud of relief. This wasn't going too horribly, so far. She even seemed enlivened by the nightly adventure, a small smile playing around her lips, a bounce in her steps as leaves crackled and small puddles splashed under their boots. He wished he didn't have to break the cheerful mood by getting into sticky issues, but he couldn't be such a dolt that he chickened out now.

"I guess that's what happened last night," he said, glancing quickly sideways at her as they walked down the alley. "Me trying to be a gentleman, I mean. I think it came over all wrong, but I had only the best of intentions, I swear."

She met his gaze for a second, her smile fading, then ducked her head, watching her boots while they walked. "Yeah, about that, I figure... hell, Nev, I'm sorry. You were right, you know, it was a mad idea, and I had no reason to go off at you the way I did after — no," she said, holding up a hand as he tried to get a word in, "you know I fucking _hate_ apologising, so let me get this out in one piece, all right?" She sounded upset and uncertain now, glancing down again after that interruption, and Neville suspected that the moonlight was masking more than _his_ blush. "I felt like I must have been crap at it, if you wanted to back out of doing it with me a second time, but the point is you weren't happy about the idea to begin with, and I can't blame you at all if you just wanted to quit there and do damage control. You warned me we'd risk making things weird and awkward between us, and you were right about that. Obviously. Fuck." She finally dared a glance at him again, and tried for a smile that was more of an embarrassed grimace. She looked so unhappy, and confused, and Neville shook his head and didn't even know where to begin.

"Whoa, Gin, slow down." She took his request literally, stopping right there at the corner between Chaffinch Alley and Main Street, the light from Honeydukes' window displays falling around her in a muted haze. Neville raised a hand to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "First of all, you weren't crap at it. Not even remotely. God, if you knew how gorgeous you were, you'd have known better than to take my words the way you did." He paused. "I did try to tell you today that I didn't mean it that way."

"Not the way you think I thought you'd meant it, yeah," Ginny said with a brusque, lopsided shrug. "I'd no idea what you think that I thought, so, you know, that message wasn't exactly crystal clear either."

"I would have been more eloquent if Seamus and Dean hadn't been there," Neville said in his defence.

She gave a reluctant snort of laughter. "Yeah, I'm willing to believe that."

"Good." He smiled, too. "Secondly, when you say I wasn't happy about the idea, that's true only as far as it goes." He shook his head, uncertain again. "Damn it, Gin, I was _elated_ at the idea of sleeping with you. I wasn't happy about the idea that it was just for you to get rid of something, no. And I was just plain angry realising that the reason was you wanted to shag someone else. Someone like McLaggen."

"Forget McLaggen, please." She raised her hand to her hair in a distracted, agitated motion. "No way I'd do that with him. I'd hate to share something like that with him, now that... Because it was beautiful with you. And that made me feel totally stupid, to have approached things the way I did. Because... I've been thinking. Perhaps there was a reason I wanted to ask you that favour. Perhaps it was a way of asking for something I was afraid to admit I wanted." Even in the dim light, he could see the rosy flush in her cheeks. She paused a beat, and looked up at him, biting at her lip. "Elated?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, yes." Neville felt like his heart was about to hammer its way out of his chest. "Beautiful?" he asked, just as quietly. "But... it hurt, for you."

"That was just one part of it. The least important part." Her voice was as small, as vulnerable as he'd ever heard it. "Was it beautiful for you, too, then? At least a little bit? Even though you've done it before with all those blasted... girls?"

He couldn't help himself any longer; he put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "It was amazing. And I promise to forget about McStupid if you forget about all those blasted girls."

A huff of laughter hit his throat, warm and ticklish, as she burrowed there. "Then... things aren't awkward any longer? Or weird? You promise?"

Neville cupped her cheek and raised her face to his. "Does this seem awkward and weird to you?" he asked rhetorically, and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm and the night was sparkling cold and the tip of her nose chilly as it angled against his. She opened her mouth and their tongues met, sliding smooth and exploring together, and it was heady, sweet, brilliant. He was short of breath and getting hard when their mouths finally parted in shaky puffs of white condensation that mingled in the night air.

"Not awkward," she said unsteadily, licking her lips. 

"Weird, then?" His gaze followed the swipe of her tongue over her lips.

"Well, of course it's bloody weird to be kissing my old friend." She laughed, a sound so suddenly light-hearted it made him grin, too. "But in a rather brilliant way. And... no matter what else changes, we'll always be old friends, won't we?"

"Always," Neville answered and kissed her again, both arms wrapping around her, drawing her as close as he possibly could. Her shape was vague, bolstered by the thick parka, but his memory supplied vivid images from the night before, viscerally aided by the supple strength in the small, solid body arching against his.

"Seamus is going to be unbearably smug," Neville said, in between kisses. "I have a feeling he... set me up, like a right sneak." But all at once he wondered, a suspicion out of the blue, whether sweet, perceptive Luna hadn't been pulling some threads that night. She was a rather more likely matchmaker than Seamus, now that he thought of it. 

"Seamus is always smug, the git," Ginny said without much heat. "But I reckon now Luna and Dean are going to take him firmly in hand. Hell, now that I think about it, that will probably just make him _more_ smug." 

"You know about that, then? Call me a prude, but I can't imagine how something like that would ever work," Neville said earnestly. "It's hard enough to get two people lined up properly, and that's before starting on the sex part, even."

Ginny grinned. "Dean's head over heels for them both, Luna is anything but conventional, and Seamus is generally of the school of thought that says the more, the merrier. I'd say they've got a fair shot at making the angles work. But I'm glad you're not into that sort of thing. I'm not particularly good at sharing, myself."

"I never would have guessed," Neville said, chuckling and trying to dodge a swat to his head in the middle of a kiss. "But yeah, that's good. No risk of slipping into your bed and finding McLaggen waiting for me with an inviting smile, then."

"The only inviting smile you'll find in my bed, is mine. Speaking of which, let's go back to the house," Ginny said, breathless, "and get warm under the covers. If you know what I mean."

"Oh, god," Neville murmured, as lust spread in a hot rush through his body. "You're sore, right? You have to be."

"Of course I'm sore after being on the receiving end of your mighty cock, Mr Longbottom." She smirked as he gave her a long-suffering look, but seemed rather appealingly flustered under it all. "There are... other options, aren't there?"

"Hell, yes," he said with feeling. "For one thing, you didn't have an orgasm, last night, and that was a terrible oversight."

Ginny looked up at him under her long, red lashes. "I've got to admit," she said, "I wouldn't mind. So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Well, let's see." Neville kissed her gently again, nipping at her lips. "I plan to kiss you all over, take it slow this time, make you come on my fingers. Then I want to taste you, make you come with my mouth. I want — mmphh—"

" _Neville._ " Her palm pressed against his lips, and she laughed, her eyes wide. "All right, this is going to take some getting used to. But I like it. A lot," she added, with firm emphasis. "And give me just a few weeks and it's going to be me flustering _you_ completely, just so we're clear on that."

Somehow, he didn't find that hard to believe. Neville took a reluctant step back and grinned as he took her in, bright-eyed and happy, laughing as she leaned against the lit windows of Honeydukes. "Feel free to practice flustering me any time. I have a feeling I'll enjoy being upstaged by you. Immensely." 

He offered her his hand, and she took it without hesitation, her fingers curling warm and familiar around his own. It was comfortable as only old friends could be, and yet as exhilarating as a new beginning as they started back the way they had come, through the quiet, cold November night over Hogsmeade.

 

-end-


End file.
